Where do you begin a story? The answer must be anywhere. It's rather like drawing a circle - you can start it at any point on the circumference, and come to think of it, you can put the point of your compass anywhere in the plane of Pi. What has put first lines into my mind now? Well there I was lying in bed late this morning listening to Miriam O'Callaghan interviewing the actor Niall Buggy and the great novelist Edna O'Brien. I have read some of her work, and indeed it is very good. I love both her spoken and written words. She speaks as beautifully and as measured as she writes. I am always enthralled by her prounciation, enunciation and powers of communication. In short, I am spell-bound by this lady's literacy. Anyway, at one stage in the interview she quotes the first several lines of one of her novels and they were brilliant. When she was composing them, she obviously took her time and honed them many times over, as all good novelists and writers do.
There was something Shakespearean in Edna O'Brien's words this morning that moved me, like dipping into Hamlet or Macbeth or Lear or Othello. In short, I was inspired, and first lines began rolling around in my head. By their nature first lines have the art and ability to hook the reader immediately and lead them into deeper treasures. The ultimate in first lines, to my mind, are, of course, those of Charles Dickens' great novel A Tale of Two Cities:
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.How we wish we could have written those lines. I remember also that brilliant simple opening line of Moby Dick by : "Call me Ishmael." Just three words, and these well chosen words bring the rerader into an almost intimate conversation, which has already begun before the very novel opens, with our partner telling us we can call him by his first name, and that name is of Biblical proportions, a fact which invite us into a deep and mysterious book about man's struggle with the sea, and especially with the great white whale, Moby Dick.
Or again, I recall the following lines from Becket's novel Murphy: "The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new." I remember at the time thinking to myself: "What a depressingly true line, and yet the very act of shining is a hopeful action, indeed a life giving action (and by implication hopeful) while "having no alternative" brings to mind the inevitability of the human predicament - we have no alternative but to live, unless, of course,we choose to end our lives. And so this is a marvellously balanced line: not totally hopeful, and not totally despairing, yet very depressingly obvious. It also, of course, has biblical resonances, viz., "there is nothing new under the sun" from the book Qoheleth or The Preacher or Ecclesiastes, call this book as you will, and we recall "vanities of vanities" and references to "vain", "futile", "empty", "meaningless", "temporary", "transitory" and "fleeting" nature of human life.
Anyway, I took the following novels down randomly from ny shelves, and here are the results of this search for first lines:
- "I still remember the bday my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time." The Shadow of the Wind, Carlos Ruiz Zafón, p. 1
- "Two postcards of the holiday town in the south-wet of England.", The Past, Neil Jordan, p. 3.
- "On the morning of the first murder Miss Muriel Biel, Inspector of Nurse Treaining Schools to the General Nursing Council stirred into wakefulness soo after six o'clock and into a sluggish early morning awareness that it was Monday the 12th of January, and the day of the John Carpendar Hospital inspection." Shroud for a Nightingale, P.D. James, p. 1
- "Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton." Fiesta by Ernest Hemingway, p. 7.
- "Well, Piotr? Still nothing in sight? asked a gentleman on the 20th of May, 1859 as he came out on the porch of the stage-coach inn on the road to ---" Fathers and Sons, Ivan Turgenev, p. 1
- "Woodland straddling two counties and several townlands, a drowsy corpus of green, broken only where the odd pine has struck up on its own, spindly, freakish, the stray twigs on either side branched, cruciform wise." In The Forest, Edna O'Brien, p. 1.
- "Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins." Lolita, Vladimir Nobokov, Penguin Classics, p. 9.
- "We were at home in Godalming, though some call it Godlyman, and I can't tell which is right." The woman who gave birth to rabbits. Emma O'Donoghue, p. 1.
- "They departed, the gods, on the day of the strange tide." The Sea, John Banville, Picador, p. 3.
- "Philo took the knocker in her hand and lifted it up." Big Fat Love, Peter Sheridan, p. 1.
- "Under certain circumstances there are few thgere are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea." The Portrait of a Lady, Penguin Books, p. 5.
- "Hot, thought the Parisians." Suite Francaise, Irene Némirovsky, p. 1
- "Master was a little crazy; he had spent too may yerars reading books overseas, talked to himself in his office, did not always return greetings, and had too much hair." Half of a Yellow Sun, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Harper Perennial, p. 3.
- My name is Kathy H. I'm 31 years old, and I've been a carer now for over eleven years." Never Letr Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro, Faber and Faber, p. 3.
That's it, for today, my friends, Happy Reading!